So I was punching the shit out of some cocker spaniel puppies this afternoon while simultaneously sifting through newspaper cutouts about myself, when I came upon this shocking story:  My good buddy and former trainer Greg Anderson will not only be facing more jail time if he keeps his trap shut (like I know he will), but his wife may get tossed into the big house, too. 

Did I say "shocking"?  I meant "hilarious."

I hate to say this about a friend of mine who's done a grand total of 15 months in prison just so I could keep my legacy, but the dude's getting what he deserves. 

Why, you ask?  Well ... I've never told anyone this before.  So ... *sniff* ... bear with me:

I never would've done steroids if it weren't for him.  It's true.

One fateful day, Greg and I were walking home from baseball practice, and I was carrying my homework and my cleats, and this conversation ensued:

Greg: Hey Barry Bear!

Me: Yeah, best buddy Greg?

Greg: You should use this hypodermic needle to inject anabolic steroids into your buttocks!  It will ensure rapid muscle repair and increase mass!

Me: I don't know, Greg.  I've heard steroids are bad.  They give you acne, and rage, and even small testicles, (though the acne can be controlled with medication and the small testes are offset by massive penile muscle growth).

Greg: Come on, Bondsy, don't be such a twat.  Everyone's doing it. 

Barry: If you say so, Greg!

And that's how it happened.  I was once an innocent, doe-eyed center fielder and a constant steal threat on the basepaths.  Then Greg transformed me into a hulking, massive prick who couldn't run down a routine pop-up without getting a side-ache.  Sure, I won some MVPs.  Broke a few records.  But because of evil Greg, I am now what the media calls a "pariah."  Which, I believe, is a sharp-toothed, predatory fish commonly found in the Amazon River. 

Can you believe that?  People think I'm a fish.  Rot in jail, Greg. 

(Photo credit: Associated Press)